The Rancher
by Screaming Lamb
Summary: What might have happened if Clarice answered one of Dr. Lecter's questions differently.


The Rancher  
  
By Screaming Lamb  
  
Rating: R for language and general grossness. Timeline: During SOTL the book, picks up in the middle of Chapter 35. Summary: What might have happened if Clarice answered one of Dr. Lecter's questions differently. Deviates somewhat from canon. All usual disclaimers apply.  
  
Note: My apologies if a similar idea has been conceived by someone else, but I haven't read all the Lecterfic out there so honestly don't know if it's been done before. This isn't meant to be a good quality fic - I just had an urge to write something gruesome!  
  
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"Did your foster father in Montana fuck you, Clarice?"  
  
For the first time during Dr. Lecter's questioning, Clarice Starling didn't answer and averted her eyes.  
  
"Why did you run away with the horse? Did the rancher molest you? Clarice?"  
  
"It was the lambs.....they were screaming...."  
  
"That's not what I asked, Clarice. Did the rancher in Montana fuck you? Sodomize you? Did he try? Yes or no? Answer me, Clarice."  
  
Clarice's calm demeanour quickly erupted into rage. She had been careful to answer his questions honestly while keeping emotion out of her voice. Catherine Martin's life depended on it. But all that was forgotten as she looked the doctor in the face, barely remembering in time that the two guards were within earshot, and growled at him through her furious tears. "Godamn you Doctor! Okay, you really want to know? The answer is yes - I was ten years old and raped by the rancher who was my foster father - there, is that what you wanted to hear, Doctor? Does that make you happy?"  
  
Clarice spun around and was about to walk away when the doctor's voice halted her.  
  
"Clarice."  
  
Despite herself, she turned back to face whatever demeaning taunt he chose to address her with. Instead, she found an uncharacteristic tenderness in his eyes.  
  
"Thank you Clarice. Thank you." His voice was barely audible.  
  
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Dr. Lecter still had a few weeks to kill before his flight left for Rio. His appearance was altered to his satisfaction and he had already retrieved his various hidden stashes of money, identification and medical supplies. He had been thinking about taking a little side trip somewhere to pass the time, someplace where the authorities would be unlikely to search for him. The outskirts of Bozeman, Montana would do just fine.  
  
The nine hour drive was quite pleasant and Dr. Lecter felt refreshed and ready for action once he reached Montana. There existed quite a number of ranches in the surrounding rural areas of Bozeman, but not many which specifically fed out slaughter horses. Actually, his inquiries led him to the only ranch in the area that raised slaughter horses. Bozeman is the kind of town where everybody knows everybody else's business, and Dr. Lecter had no difficulty learning that an old Mr. Peters lived alone, having been widowed for two years, and still raised horses for glue production with the help of a few hired hands. He had ceased long ago to raise lambs. Dr. Lecter was armed with enough information and ready to spring his plan into action when he arrived at the sprawling ranch home at the end of the day.  
  
Joe Peters was a small, robust man with a mottled red face and a mostly bald head. Years of exposure to the harsh Montana elements had roughened his hands and carved deeply grooved wrinkles in his leather-like face. He had a reputation for generally being a rather unpleasant fellow. Apart from business acquaintances, he mostly kept to himself since his wife had passed away. Now, he answered the knock at the door with a frown and a rather impolite "Yeah? Whadaya want?".  
  
Hannibal Lecter gave his most charming smile. "Mr. Peters, excuse me for disturbing you. I have an opportunity you may be interested in."  
  
"Unless you got some cold hard cash to show me, I ain't interested".  
  
"I assure you sir, my offer does involve cold hard cash. I'm doing some research for a major publication and conducting interviews with farmers and ranchers in these parts. If you'd oblige me with a bit of your time, you'll be handsomely compensated.". Dr. Lecter held out a wad of cash just out of the rancher's reach.  
  
"Shee-it, with your kinda fancy talkin' you must be one of them academic types! Nows I don't make a habit of lettin' strangers into my home but as the saying goes, money talks. .so come on in and get your business done and we'll have ourselves a deal".  
  
Dr. Lecter followed the rancher into the dismal kitchen  
  
"Have a seat, Mister - ?"  
  
"Just call me Fred. Shall we begin?"  
  
"Ready when you are, Fred. Don't mind if I pour myself a drink, do you? Care to join me?"  
  
"No thank you. I have a long drive this evening -but please go ahead.".  
  
"Don't mind if I do". The rancher poured himself an exaggerated amount of foul-smelling whisky.  
  
"I understand you provide ill and lame horses to be used in glue and fertilizer production. Could you tell me about that?" Dr. Lecter did a good job of feigning profound interest.  
  
"Well there's not much to tell. I keep the horses that ain't no good for nothin' else, and when they get fat enough I shoot 'em and a truck comes an' picks 'em up. You can stack six on the back of a truck. Hell, I gots me six dead horses out there waiting for pickup later tonight. Pays pretty good too."  
  
"Then what happens?"  
  
"Well I dunno the details, I just sell 'em the carcasses. I figure the big factories have got these machines that are like these big meat grinders, see? They puts the whole carcass in and that crushes the bones and that's what they use for makin' glue. Gets the godamn animal rights activists into a tizzy so the factories don't make the details public, ya know what I mean?"  
  
"I see. Now tell me a bit about yourself. How long have you been in this business?"  
  
The rancher went on with mundane accounts of the ranching business and was steadily becoming inebriated from the amber-coloured liquid he was gulping in between sentences.  
  
"Tell me Mr. Peters, did you and your wife have any children? Any heirs to pass the family ranch to?"  
  
"Hell no! Don't like kids, never did. They's a pain in the ass is all. My wife's cousin dumped her kid on us one summer, but that didn't last fer long".  
  
Dr. Lecter tilted his head to the side and his maroon eyes flashed dangerously. "Tell me.".  
  
"Not much to tell really. Stupid brat was maybe 10 or 11 and she done runs off with one of my horses that I coulda made some good money on! Sent her straight to the orphanage there in Bozeman. Pretty little thing she was though, too bad she was gone just as I was havin' me some fun with her.". The rancher was now sufficiently drunk to slur his words together.  
  
"What do you mean. 'have some fun'"?  
  
"Well you's not a cop, are ya? Y'know if you was, you'd have to tell me else it's entrapment or something and I know my rights!"  
  
"Mr. Peters, I assure you your identity will be kept confidential and I am not an officer of the law. Besides, I think you're an okay fella and you have me interested. Tell me.".  
  
"Well I thinks you're an okay fella too Fred, and I don't get me much company. Sorta get lonely for male camaderie, y'know? Anyways, yeah this kid had the body of a 16 year old, man she was sure a pretty thing. I kinda gave her an early education about the birds an' bees, y'know what I mean? And she probably liked it - hell, I bet little Clarice is one hell of a whore now!" The rancher laughed himself into a major coughing fit.  
  
Rising from his chair, Dr. Lecter gave the impression of intending to whack the rancher on the back in order to ease his coughing fit. Instead, he whacked him solidly on the back of the head with enough force to knock him unconscious.  
  
When the rancher awoke, he found himself to be tightly bound and gagged. He could not move any part of his body or make a sound. He was rendered completely immobile and mute by means of several layers of duct tape and rope. He was in some dark, deep place that he couldn't identify. From somewhere that seemed far above him, he heard a familiar voice.  
  
"Mr. Peters, I must confess that I'm not who I said I was. I must also confess that I have taken the liberty of arranging for early pickup from one of your clients. The truck should be here in half an hour. That will give me sufficient time to complete this project.".  
  
"Mrrrpphhhf!!!! Urrrgfftpht!!" The rancher struggled against his restraints as he made several futile attempts to scream.  
  
"Ah, you have questions. Allow me to answer them. You see, I have managed quite successfully to hollow out a sufficient space inside one of the horse carcasses. Sufficient enough to house you for the duration of the ride to the glue factory. In a moment, I will suture the incision while leaving sufficient punctures in the carcass for adequate ventilation. Wouldn't want you to asphyxiate before the real fun begins! Now what was that you were telling me about glue production earlier? Ah yes - the carcasses are put through a grinding machine of sorts? It's merciful that the horses are already dead. I can only imagine the torture of being fed alive through such a device. But you, Mr. Peters, won't have to imagine it."  
  
The rancher again struggled in vain against his bounds and made incoherent sounds.  
  
"What's that, Mr. Peters? You're not begging me to spare your life now, are you? Do you remember the sound of little Clarice begging when you decided to "have some fun" with her? Hmmm? Was it enjoyable to rape an innocent child? Think about it when you hear the sound of your own bones being crushed for the making of glue. Oh and by the way, allow me to introduce myself properly: Dr. Hannibal Lecter."  
  
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Clarice is lying on her bed on her side of the room when Ardelia bursts in and flings a small package in her direction.  
  
"Thanks Delia...what is it?"  
  
"Damn if I know - I don't open your private mail, girl! I gotta run - see ya later!"  
  
Clarice opens the small box and pulls away several sheets of dainty pink tissue. She snorts a confused laugh and mutters to herself when she pulls out the contents.  
  
"What the fuck? Someone's got a weird sense of humour - now why the hell would anybody send me a damn bottle of GLUE??!"  
  
FIN 


End file.
